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In active arts, or vent'rous arms wou'd fhine,
Yet fhuns the paths which virtue bids decline;
Who dignifies his wealth by gen'rous ufe,

To raise th' opprefs'd, or merit to produce-
Shall reafon's voice impartial e'er condemn
The glorious purpose of so wise an aim?

Where virtue regulates this juft defire,
'Twere dang'rous folly to fupprefs its fire.
Say whence could fame fupply, (its force unknown)
Her roll illuftrious of fair renown?

What laurels prompt the hero's useful rage ?
What prize the patriot's weighty toils engage?
Each publick paffion bound to endless froft,
Each deed of focial worth for ever loft.
O! may the Muse inspire the love of praise,
Raife the bright paffion, but with judgment raife!
For this fhe oft has tun'd her facred voice,
Call'd forth the patriot, and approv'd his choice;
Bid him the fleep afcent to honor take,
Nor till the fummit gain'd, her paths forfake.
Yet not fuccefs alone true fame attends;

He too fhall reach it who but well intends.

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See 'midft the vanquish'd virtuous, Falkland lies;

His gen'rous efforts vain, and vain his fighs;

Yet true to merit faithful records tell,

To distant ages how the patriot fell :

He was killed in the civil wars; fee his character at large in Clarendon's hiftory.

Bleft

Bleft youth! infur'd the fweeteft voice of praife,
Who lives approv'd in Pope's unrival'd lays.

Grave precepts fleeting notions may impart,
But bright example beft inftructs the heart:
Then look on Patrius, let his conduct fhew
From active life what various bleffings flow.
In him a just ambition ftands confefs'd;
It warms, but not inflames, his equal breast.
See him in fenates act the patriot's part,
Truth on his lips, the publick at his heart:
'There neither fears can awe, nor hopes controul,
The honeft purpose of his fteady foul.
No mean attachments e'er feduced his tongue
To gild the cause his heart fufpected wrong;
But deaf to envy, faction, fpleen, his voice
Joins here or there, as reason guides his choice.
To one great point his faithful labors tend,
And all his toils in Britain's intereft end.
To him each neighbor fafe refers his claim,
The right he fettles, and abates the flame.
Nor arts nor worth to Patrius fue in vain,
Nor unreliev'd the injur'd e'er complain.
For him the hand unfeen, are pray'rs prefer'd,
And grateful vows in diftant temples heard ;
Like nature's bleffings to no part confin'd,
His well-pois'd bounty reaches all mankind.
That infolence of wealth, the pomp of state
Which crowds the manfions of the vainly great,
Flies far the limits of his modeft gate.

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Juft what is elegantly ufeful's there;

Of aught beyond he scorns th' unworthy care;
Nor wou'd, for all the trim that pride can show,
One fingle act of focial aid forego;

For this he labors to improve his store,

For this he wishes to enlarge his pow'r ;
This is his life's great purpose, end, and aim:
Such true ambition is, and worthy fame.

How different Rapax spent his worthless hour!
With treasure indigent, a flave with pow'r:
Large fums o'erlooking, ftill intent on more,
He wasted, not enjoy'd, his tafteless store.
His growing greatness rais'd his hopes the high'r,
And fan'd his retlefs pride's increafing fire.
"Twas thus amidst profperity he pin'd;

For what can fill the falfe-ambitious mind?
With all the honors that his prince cou'd give,
With all the wealth his av'rice cou'd receive,
'Midft outward opulence, but inward care,
Reproach and want was all he left his heir.

4

"Tis true, the patriot well deferves his fame,
And from his country juft applause may claim.
But what avails it to the world befide,
That Brutus bravely ftab'd, or Curtius dy'd
While Tully's merit, unconfin'd to place,
Diffufes bleffings down thro' all our race;

Remoteft times his learned labors reach,
And Rome's great moralift e'en now fhall teach.

Averfe

Averfe to publick noise, ambition's ftrife,
And all the fplendid ills of bufy life,
Thro' latent paths, unmark'd by vulgar eye,
Are there who wish to pass unheeded by ?
Whom calm retirement's facred pleasures move,
The hour contemplative, or friend they love;
Yet not by spleen, or fuperftition led,
Forbear ambition's giddy heights to tread;
Who not inglorious spend their peaceful day,
Whilft fcience, lovely ftar! directs their way?
Flows there not fomething good from fuch as these?
No useful product from the men of ease?
And fhall the Muse no focial merit boast?
Are all her vigils to the publick loft ?

Tho' noify pride may fcorn her filent toil,
Fair are the fruits which blefs her happy foil:
There every plant of useful produce grows,
There science sprang, and thence inftruction flows;
There true philosophy erects her school,

There plans her problem, and there forms her rule ;
There every feed of every art began,

And all that eases life, and brightens man.

'Twas hence great Newton, mighty genius! foar'd, And all creation's wond'rous range explor'd.

Far as th' Almighty ftretch'd his utmost line,
He pierc'd in thought, and view'd the vast defign.
Too long had darker ages fought in vain
The fecret scheme of nature to explain;

Too

Too long had truth efcap'd each fage's eye,
Or faintly shown thro' vain philofophy.
Each shapely offspring of her feeble thought,
A darker veil o'er genuine fcience brought;
Still ftubborn facts o'erthrew their fruitlefs toil;
For truth and fiction who fhall reconcile ?
But Britain's fons a furer guide pursue;

Tread safe the maze, fince Newton gave the clue.
Where-e'er he turn'd true Science rear'd her head,
While far before her puzzled Ign'rance fled :
From each bleft truth these noble ends he draws,
Ufe to mankind, and to their God applause.
Taught by his rules fecure the merchant rides,
When threat'ning feas roll high their dreadful tides;
And either India fpeeds her precious stores,
'Midst various dangers fafe to Britain's shores.
Long as thofe orbs he weigh'd shall shed their rays,
His truth fhall guide us, and fhall last his praise.
Yet if fo juft the fame, the ufe fo great,
Systems to poife, and spheres to regulate;
To teach the secret well-adapted force,

That fteers of countless orbs th' unvaried course;

Far brighter honors wait the nobler part,

To balance manners, and conduct the heart.
Order without us, what imports it seen,

If all is restless anarchy within ?

VOL. I.

Fir'd

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